


An Indecent Proposal

by JollyRogue



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, this is gonna get porny because OF COURSE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-06-09 19:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15274758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollyRogue/pseuds/JollyRogue
Summary: Jopson is one very naughty boy. How fortunate for Captain Crozier!





	1. Chapter 1

Carefully Jopson balances the tray with Crozier’s breakfast and the full water jug at the same time as he enters the great cabin. Sunlight greets him through the double-glazed stern windows but the landscape of pack ice outside is a shapeless mist – the cold hand of an Arctic night has covered the windows with hundreds if not thousand little blooms of crystal. It is May, 1847, and the pack shows no signs of thawing.

He sets the tray on the table, and is about to knock at the door of the bedcabin when he hears Crozier’s voice from inside.

“Just a moment, Jopson!”

Jopson pauses. There have been only ever a few rare instances when Crozier told him to keep out, and Jopson has his suspicions why. Not that this would shock him – he knows perfectly well that his captain is just a man, like everyone else on this ship, who has his own needs to take care of (and it is the most natural thing in the world despite what some deluded ‘health’ crusaders back in England are claiming … and, ah, England seems so far away from here that it might as well be on the moon …)

Yet, he wonders. Wonders what it would be like if he were allowed to take care of Captain Crozier in this matter, too. What the captain’s prick looks like when roused – he’s ever only seen it soft, and then only in occasional glimpses, because he knows not to let his treacherous eyes linger. Would it feel like his own also? He has never before touched another man in this way. Of course, he has had similar fantasies about some of his shipmates as a young lad, but ever since entering service on HMS _Terror_ it has solely been Crozier to occupy his mind.

Jopson’s heart pounds in his chest as he slips, very silently, closer to the bedcabin’s sliding door and lowers his ear to the grille. Sure enough, there it is, the wet, obscene sound of quick, pumping movements, accompanied by ragged breaths. For a second Jopson is tempted to risk a glance through the grille – in his imagination he can see the captain’s hand quite clearly, wrapped around his cock tightly and working it efficiently to completion – but he chides himself for this foolhardy thought. The image formed in his mind will have to suffice for him to take care of himself later. If Crozier somehow were to learn of his unnatural desires – he would be scandalized, Jopson’s career jeopardized.

Jopson quietly steps back from the door and waits. It takes scarcely a minute for Crozier to open the door. He is wearing his trousers and shirt, messily tucked in, and wipes his hand with a kerchief. “Water!”

Jopson takes the jug, pouring some into the washbasin in front of his captain. “Here, sir.” As always, he tries to act perfectly professional, normal, despite of what he knows; he forces himself not to look – linger – on Crozier’s exhausted face, the slight bulge that still shows in the front of his trousers, the kerchief he’s holding in his hand …

“Lad, what’s the matter? Yer blushing like a maiden!”

Jopson almost spills the water on the floor. “Nothing”, he blurts out – much too quickly, anxiously. “Nothing, sir!”

“Here. For the laundry.” Crozier hands him the soiled piece of cotton. Jopson takes it, as he’s nonchalantly (or so he hopes) taken others like it before, but he can’t help himself blushing a shade deeper as his fingers brush against his captain’s.

“Come on, Jopson …” Crozier raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me ye realised only just now that sometimes I like to toss one off.” He dunks his hands into the basin, splashes icy water onto his face, rubbing it.

“I… I know, sir.” He shouldn’t be standing in the doorway now, with that big water-jug in one hand and a seed-soaked handkerchief in the other, but Crozier’s gaze holds him arrested. A thousand thoughts rush through him, _of course, sir, I really don’t mind, on the contrary, I would love to be there for you, for this most natural need, why don’t we –_

“You’re doing it too, aren’t you, Jopson? More often than me, I’m sure – at your age …!”

“Yes, sir”, Jopson responds breathlessly.

“Why, yes, of course.” He dries his face with a towel. “Now are ye gonna be standin’ there for much longer, letting my breakfast get colder than a walrus-arse?!”

Embarrassed for not noticing how he has been blocking the way, Jopson quickly steps aside so his captain can exit the bed-cabin and sit down at the large table.

At this point, Jopson would usually go about his daily business, discarding the used water, collecting Crozier’s linens for laundry and tidy up his bed.

Usually.

Instead, it’s the devil that rides him. “Sir”, he blurts out loudly, “I’d be happy to help you with … give you pleasure … sir!!”

Crozier’s eyes meet his, and in the instant his eyebrows rise, Jopson turns around sharply and flees the cabin.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Thomas Jopson, you complete and utter fool!_

He leans against the wall near door of the _Terror’s_ stewards’ cabin, forehead resting against the cold wooden panel, and berates himself. Billy Gibson steps outside the door, asks him if he’s all right, (“Yes, leave me alone, will you?”), and Jopson takes a deep breath.

 

*

 

At first he is convinced that the slip-up of his tongue will earn him a more distant treatment from Captain Crozier, if not a serious scolding, but as the days pass by as if he had not said any such outrageous thing, without any look of disdain from his master, Jopson begins to hope that the matter is settled. Of course, that's how Crozier would do it – discreetly, with the least embarrassment to either party. Surely he counts on Jopson to understand and likewise keep silence, trusting him to watch his mind and mouth better from now on.

And Jopson keeps silent, pretending he's never said something so insolent – to his captain, of all men! He should count himself lucky – other superiors might not have brushed off such an infraction so lightly. What was he even thinking? Well, perhaps that's the problem – he wasn't thinking at all, allowing a very base part of his mind to take over his usual perfect self-control. Is it not enough that he is imagining those things when alone with his thoughts? Imagining his hands on Crozier and Crozier's hands on him, their bodies flush in passionate embrace, their members hard and hot against one another …

So, naturally, Jopson does not expect what is to come.

That evening, he is with Crozier in the captain's tiny bedcabin, assisting him out of the close-fitting uniform tailcoat, when the captain – with a surprisingly firm and sober voice – says to him, “What was that you proposed some days ago, Jopson?”

“... Sir?” Jopson freezes, holding the coat in the air. Something tenses in his gut, and he feels his face turn hot. Has he heard right, or are his ears now playing tricks on him too – just as his filthy mind did when it convinced him that offering himself to Crozier was a good idea?

Crozier turns around, facing his steward and looking at him straight on. “If I recall correctly, you made a most shocking and unbelievable suggestion to me. Did you not?”

Jopson searches Crozier's face, trying to read it for signs of anger. His own is feeling hot with shame, his forehead damp. It was a mistake, of course, a terrible mistake – how could he have thought that he'd get away with this? But – the way Captain Crozier looks at him now, there is no disgust or indignation in his weathered face, only the very same searching, questioning look from warm, gray eyes.

He could not lie to him anyway, so what does it matter? He has to trust him to handle the truth. “Yes, sir”, he whispers. “I … I did.” With those words, he finds himself unable to look Crozier in the eyes, still anticipating contempt and outrage from his beloved captain. So he stares on the wooden floorboards, wishing they would open up beneath his feet and swallow him right there, if only to interrupt the unbearably silent pause between them.

Finally Crozier speaks. “Well, Jopson. Look at me. I'm not going to eat you.”

Jopson obeys, surprised but not knowing what he has expected. Is that the hint of a smile lurking in the corners of the captain's mouth?

“We have two options here.” Crozier puts a hand on Jopson's upper arm, a gentle but firm gesture, reassuring and commanding at the same time. “Either you do, here and now, what you proposed to do. Or …”, he pauses again, “if you didn't truly mean it, we shall do nothing, forget the entire matter and never speak of it again.”

For all his anxiety up to this moment, Jopson grasps the situation quickly. “Yes, sir … I mean, yes, I should like to do this, sir, very much … if you'll let me.”

Crozier nods to the entranceway next to them. “Close the door.”

Almost tripping over his own feet, and with a sweaty hand slipping off the door handle, Jopson does as he is told. Then he is right back standing before Crozier, breathless and pulse racing, and the words he's so far only imagined in his most secret daydreams, spill out of him. “Sir, I want to give you pleasure … I'll do anything you want me to.”

“Hush, lad.” The captain's hand finds the back of Jopson's head, caressing his hair, his face, lets his finger trace Jopson's lips. It would be a purely warm and comforting gesture, if it weren't for the slight tremble in that hand and the dark look of want in his eyes. He has never seen his captain like this before, yet Jopson recognizes and understands. No more words are needed.

Emboldened, he presses his palm to the front of Crozier's trousers, feeling and fondling the warm bulge contained within – it's already quite hard, the same state as his own prick. Crozier draws his breath in sharply. His look tells Jopson that this is the confirmation and encouragement he, too, has needed.

Their mouths meet in a kiss, Crozier taking control with one hand on the back of Jopson's head and the other around his waist, and for a moment Jopson is overwhelmed because this is _real_ – all fantasies pale in comparison to the amazing realness of those lips pressing hungrily against his own, that tongue demanding to taste him. In response, he presses closer to the other man, grasps his erection through the trousers more firmly, eliciting a moan from him.

It's the sweetest sound Jopson has ever heard. The captain – _his captain!_ – is responding to his touch, eager and wanting, and if he has only dreamed of it before, he knows it now: Crozier permits him to do this, to satisfy and please him!

Jopson does not have to think. He has staged this play many times in his mind, so the next act comes to him naturally – although, of course, his hands tremble more and his heart beats faster than at any point he has been fantasizing. As soon as their mouths part, he drops to his knees in front of his beloved captain.

He presses his face against Crozier's groin, barely registering his surprised gasp. Uttering an appreciative  _ mmmmh, _ he pushes his nose into the heavy woollen fabric, next to the hard ridge straining it, inhaling the heady masculine scent. He wants to use his hands on it, to rub and squeeze him, and then finally to unbutton those trousers, but there is still one thing that holds him back – to simply take what he wants from his master would be  _too_ bold, too forward, more of a way of fulfilling his own desires when his whole purpose is to take care of his captain's. 

“Sir!” He looks up, breathless, trying to restrain his urgency in vain. “Sir, permission to … to suck your cock. Please!?”

Crozier is staring down at him, and for a moment there is only both their heavy breathing, until the captain whispers a raspy, “Oh God … yes.”

Jopson is about to lay his hands on the buttons, but Crozier gets there first, fumbling with the front flap of his trousers, at first slowly as though to tease Jopson, and the latter stares. He wants to see that cock now. He wants to touch it, rub his face against it, taste it...  _ Damn! _

Crozier is in charge here, Jopson reminds himself. He's agitated from the hardly bearable sensation of his own erection against his clothing, and when the captain's prodigious yard is revealed out of its confines, he is practically salivating. It is towering right in front of his face, both demanding and enticing.

Crozier caresses Jopson's hair, and with his other hand he supports his cock, lightly pushing it against Jopson's mouth.

It is only with the greatest of efforts that Jopson can keep his hands from clasping around his own erection through his clothes. His own enjoyment has to wait. Obediently, he opens his mouth and lets Crozier guide himself inside.

Jopson can take only about half of it, but that is enough for Crozier to moan softly. The threat of that thick, hot manhood so close to gagging him makes Jopson's gut protest and drives tears into his eyes, but he wants this, needs it. Soon his stomach calms only to tense delectably the next second. Jopson closes his eyes and slowly moves his mouth along that cock – he needs more, wants to taste him and more of the musky, salty aroma – but the captain is in control. He holds Jopson's head in place with a gentle hand, and withdraws his pelvis only to move it forward gradually.

Jopson's own erection throbs and pushes against his trousers so hard it's almost painful, but, as he reminds himself once more, his captain's needs take precedence. So he sucks and licks, savouring the musky taste and the sound of Crozier's shallow breaths. His jaw is starting to ache and his mouth becomes dry, but he takes it all in, relishing the thrill of thus being held, led and face-fucked.

The captain groans from the back of his throat, and his fingers tense in Jopson's hair. He mutters something barely audible, and continues moving steadily, then going over into short, hasty jerks.

Then, with a hasty gesture he pulls out and keeps his cock pointed at Jopson's mouth. Immediately, a thick spurt of semen lands over Jopson's lips, running and dripping down into his collar. The steward tries to hold his tortured jaws apart for just a few seconds longer. The next shot of strong, briny seed hits his nose, runs down, and he licks away all his tongue can reach.

He gazes up at Crozier who is looking down at him, spent but full of amazement, clearly still unable to believe that his usually so decent and proper servant has turned out to be such a whore. And what a sight Jopson must be offering him, kneeling there all aroused, his blushing face covered in cum!

The desire to touch himself is almost too much, so he crosses his arms in a desperate attempt to keep his hands under control, while Crozier tucks himself back in. “Captain ...” – his voice is almost a whine – “... beg permission to take care of myself! Please, sir!?”

Crozier returns a puzzled look. Could it be that he has not yet fully realized how much power he truly holds over Jopson? But surely he must notice his servant's predicament?

“My dear lad...” Crozier kneels down, at eye level with Jopson, “what makes you think you need to ask permission?” He has procured a handkerchief, with which he wipes Jopson's face – something Jopson has not expected at all. It feels beautifully tender and intimate.

“You know I'm yours to command, sir.”

Crozier pauses, admiring Jopson's now mostly clean face, and caressing it. And – this is the most wonderful reward Jopson can think of – his captain smiles at him warmly, with a look of wonder in his eyes. His thumb trails over Jopson's lips, as if to ascertain that this amazing, pretty mouth which does so outrageous things is indeed real.

“Well, then. Get up, lad."

For what is perhaps the first time in all the years he's been serving the captain, Jopson questions an order, but only because he is utterly confused. “Get up? ... Sir?”

“Yes. This will be a great deal easier on my back if you would just get up!”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Stunned, Jopson rises on his shaky legs, and wonders why Crozier stays down there, kneeling on the floor.

“C .. Captain?”

  
  


*

  
  


Francis Crozier thoroughly enjoys his steward's shocked look. “Why, Jopson”, he growls, “did you think I'd abandon you in a state like this?”

He kneels before him, caressing and squeezing Jopson's thighs and behind, before rubbing over the bulging front of his trousers. This is not new to Crozier – he's had his fun with fellow midshipmen in his youth (not that this is something his sweet, innocent Jopson would ever need to know), and he is firm yet gentle, knowing that young men can be quick to spend from the stimulation of touch alone. He pauses between fondles and rubs, savouring the sounds of the younger man's gasps.

“Please, sir ...” Jopson is trying to hold onto the the wood-paneled cabin door, head thrown back and eyes half closed, and the erection straining his trousers tells Crozier all about how much he needs release. And Crozier wants to pleasure him, not torture him.

So he unfastens those trousers and allows Jopson's erection to spring free. Jopson sighs, arching his pelvis more toward the Captain, and the latter smiles to himself. The lad's cock is a thing of beauty indeed, so hard that the tip is all out, and all that only from being on his knees for his captain! Crozier looks up at him. How adorable Jopson looks, blushing and embarassed like this, yet unable to resist being fondled and exposed!

“Sir … you really want... um-” he stutters.

Crozier uses his hands on the lad's hips to hold him in place.

“Captain”, Jopson gasps incredulously, “what are you-!?” His words end in a low, hardly suppressed moan when Crozier takes him into his mouth. He sucks Jopson, slowly at first, wondering whether the young man has ever been on the receiving end of this treatment before, and noting with admiration how deep black Jopson's pubic hair looks up close.

Jopson's thighs tremble but Crozier holds them firmly. The lad's moans and sighs become low and muffled – he's holding a fist to his mouth, ever the discreet, shy good boy – , and Crozier continues in a more energetic manner – licking, sucking, hands teasing the bollocks. Jopson tastes faintly salty and is so erect that Crozier has difficulties to keep it in his direction solely with his mouth so he uses a hand to grasp it at the base.

Just moments later Jopson's hands grab Crozier's shoulders. His knees buckle, and he bends over with a groan as he reaches his climax. Crozier, surprised by the hot, salty seed erupting in his mouth so soon, despite knowing that his sweet lad has been on the brink for some time, swallows it as quickly as he can.

The steward still tries to hold onto those strong shoulders when the Captain, knees slightly creaking, returns to stand upright so he can see Jopson's face better. How beautiful he looks like this – black hair sticking to his perspiring forehead, moist lips parted with heavy breaths, and a look of utter incredulity in those gorgeous eyes.

They look at each other. “Oh, Captain”, Jopson says, “I'd never... have thought...” A little sheepishly, he adds, “I'm sorry, it was too early. I couldn't hold back.”

Crozier caresses Jopson's face, amazed how feverish it feels. “Aye, lad, that's perfectly fine! You're young and eager; and you needed this badly. I could tell.”

Jopson's response is a smile that radiates pure bliss, and Crozier loses himself in that view, brushing his finger over one of those lovely dimples that he hasn't had a chance to observe so closely before.

“I can't believe it. I thought it was evil, and a sin, and I mustn't even think of it...” He looks at Crozier, tears glistening in his eyes. “But that you'd do it so... easily, like it's the most natural thing. I mean, it's amazing, Captain, and...”

“Yes?” Crozier whispers.

“Can we do this more often?”

 

\- the end

 


	4. Another "Indecent" Proposal

**Dear U.S. Americans,**

**Please go vote today.**

**Thank you.**

**Sincerely,**

**Everyone Else on this Goddamn Planet**


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